


Flames of Desire

by alliebird58



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:12:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliebird58/pseuds/alliebird58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is where I'm going to post all of my attempts at...spicier...one shots that I write! Hopefully there shall be a few of them!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Heated Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the lovely thereisnolumos because she's an absolute doll and keeps encouraging me to write Merintosh smut. Here I explore one of my favorite kinds of smut stories...angry sex. Just so fun!

She slams the door of their bed chambers open, letting it hit the wall with a resounding crack. He’s right on her heels, and promptly throws the door shut, locking it behind him.

“What in the hell did ye think ye were pullin’ with that stunt?” She whirls around to face him, eyes blazing and face flushed red with anger.

“I was thinkin’ that ye were being a ridiculous, hard-headed arse and making a terrible decision.”

“King or no, ye do not get to undermine me. _Ever_. Especially in front of the council. Ye’ve made me look a fool.”

“Oh so I’m just suppose to let ye make a horrible decision, all to appease yer ego?”

“MY ego? Oh that’s rich comin’ from the likes of you.”

“Excuse me? What in the blazin’ hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means ye canno’ stand bein’ proven wrong, and ye know it. Ye always have to be right, always have to have the last word.”

“Well it’s no’ as if ye take it any better.”

“Oh yer a righteous pain in the arse today.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

She’s about to continue her tirade when instead his mouth crashes into hers, hard and bruising. He curls his fingers hard into the satin of her dress, pulling her body roughly into his, and pushes her backwards until her back comes into contact with the wall with a resounding thunk.

There’s nothing sweet or kind about their kisses, they are utterly rough and unforgiving. But luckily both of them speak this language of anger very, very well. He winds a fist into her red curls, pulls her head sharply to one side so he has easy access to her neck and courses a brutal path of kisses down the slender, pale column of skin, biting and suckling as he goes.

Her breathing goes ragged, and a sharp gasp escapes her mouth as he bites the tender skin where her pulse beats rapidly, and then licks a path up to her ear. Her hands wind around his shoulders, nails biting into the skin of his back until he hisses his pleasure and hastily grasps at the fabric of her skirts, yanking the hem of her dress up so his hand can trail along the soft skin of her legs.

She pulls his mouth back to her own, and their tongues tangle together in a skillful battle of give and take. His hand dances knowingly up the warmth of her thigh, until his fingers are able to brush the sensitively aroused flesh of her sex, which has her arching fitfully into his grasp.

Mac hauls her into his arms with deft strength until she can wind her legs around his waist; she clings to him, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressed just where she wants it most, and lets a broken moan come from her lips as she shamelessly grinds her hips into his own. He carries her to their bed, and sets her on her feet just long enough to make short work of the laces on her gown, happily letting it pool on the ground, leaving her in nothing but her sheer white shift.

Merida falls back onto the bed, pulling Mac along with her, and he settles his weight into the cradle of her hips, drawing matching moans from both of them. His attention goes back to the warmth of her neck, working lower and lower, until his mouth meets her breast, and she arches into him with a muffled gasp. Instead of moving the shift out of the way (or removing it altogether as she’d prefer) he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive fabric covered flesh over and over and over, until the damp silk clings to her like a second skin.

His lips finally clasp tightly around her nipple and the moan that leaves her throat is so goddamned erotic that he nearly drives into her right then. But instead Mac focuses his attention back on her breasts, pressing more feather light kisses there, as his fingers search for the slick heat between her thighs, pressing into her without warning.

Merida’s hands search for the clasp of his belt, tugging and pulling as best she can while Mac is doing his damnedest to rob her of any thought whatsoever, skillful fingers working her clit with confidence. She finally manages to get his belt loose, tossing it to the floor as he pulls her earlobe into his mouth, biting hard enough to make her breath catch. He finally helps her remove his plaid before pulling the fabric of her shift over her head.

Skin to skin, finally, Mac cradles Merida’s head gently between his hands, breathing soft kisses all over her face, until he presses his lips to hers, and finally drives into her without hesitation.

Neither of them are in the mood for slow or gentle, and Mac sets a brutal pace, thrusting into her heat with a stinging intensity that has her gasping his name over and over until it falls from her lips like a broken benediction. He grabs for her thigh, hauling it up to rest over his hip so he can reach further into her with each drag of his cock, and her hips meet his every thrust perfectly.

Merida can feel the tell tale tightening deep in her stomach, can feel Mac’s own furious movements begin to falter in their pace, and she arches into his chest, bringing her thighs higher over his hips, desperate to reach that deep, wanting place within her core.

It doesn’t take much more before she finally explodes, stars dancing behind her eyes as she reaches some perfect place of oblivion. And with a muffled gasp of her name and two deep thrusts, he follows her down.

Merida clings to his shoulders, and Mac’s head rests softly in the crook of her neck as he tries to regain a normal pattern of breathing. Her body shakes with tremors in the aftermath of her climax, soft whimpers falling from her lips unheeded. He gently eases himself out of her aching, oversensitive flesh, rolling to his back and pulling her shaking body into his side. She curls into the warmth, burying her face into the skin of his chest as he absently strokes damp curls out of her face. The silence in the room is heavy but comfortable as they both finally find their way back to solid ground.

“I’m sorry, Mer. I shouldnae spoken against you, especially in front of the council.” He can feel her smile, and she presses a kiss above his settling heartbeat.

“Aye well, I suppose you would not have had to if I’d been a bit more reasonable. I’m sorry too…forgive me?”

Mac presses his lips to her temple, and his words are muffled by her mass of curls. “Only if you forgive me, my love.”

“Always, Mac. Always.”


	2. Mirror Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea where this came from, no idea how I wrote it (well I mean I KNOW how I wrote it. My tiredness from not sleeping tells me EXACTLY how I wrote it) but it's a fun little story and I really enjoyed writing it.

It's an amusing thing, normally, for Merida to watch the sweet young lassies that Mac still flirts with. Everybody within the four clans knows that the young lord is hopelessly besotted with their Queen, and she is just as taken with him. So within that knowledge Mac's flirtation comes off as something lighthearted and silly; the ladies pretend to swoon and faun under his attentions, he dances them around the room, presses a kiss to their delicate knuckles and then promptly hands them off to some other descent fellow, after which he makes his way to his Queen's side. It's a common occurrence and Merida is happy to wait until Mac has made some girl's night, content in knowing with bone-deep conviction that he will always, always return to her. 

It's quite a different story, though, when those pretty lassies that Mac dances around the room are visiting royalty and nobility. Because those lassies tend to be immensely beautiful ladies with eyes that shine as brightly as the gems that are sewn into their gowns, who hold themselves with delicacy and poise, and are well versed in the ways of being utterly beautiful. It isn't that Merida feels threatened or less certain of Mac's loyalty to her heart, but there is always a slight twitch of insecurity deep in her soul that she does not relish. 

Because these foreign ladies are hardly the strong, practical girls that occupy clan lands. They are not girls who recognize Mac's ridiculous flirtations as that of mere amusement. They don't know that his heart rests fully and completely at the feet of the fiery, fierce queen whose home they occupy. And even when they hear the gossip about the queen and her steadfast love, they always seem surprised that a high-spirited, indelicate scrap of a lady could have so thoroughly secured the heart and devoted attention of a man like Mac.

Their inability to see her as a woman who is _quite_ capable of keeping a man's attention rankles her nerves. She isn't fanciful, doesn't like the impractical, gem-and-lace adorned silks and satins that the visiting ladies wear. It simply isn't her, and she knows herself well enough to see that. 

But everyone, queens included, is entitled to a bad day. And the evening that Lady Marisol waltzes into the castle is not a good one. 

Lady Marisol is, quite simply stated, an absolute beauty. Long, magnificent curls of glistening ebony cascade down her back in waves, offset by dark, sun-kissed skin and eyes shining the brightest blue imaginable...even Merida has to objectively admit that Marisol cuts an impressive figure. Her smile and laugh brighten the room and her soft ivory gown trimmed with gold lace glistens. She may not be the normal type of beauty found in the clans, but her looks are exotic and different than what they're used to, and all eyes are drawn to her instantly.

And Merida watches with gut curling unease as Mac spends the next hour at the lady's side.  She instantly recognizes the rising discomfort swirling deep in her stomach, and excuses herself quietly, slipping out of the hall unnoticed.

By the time she finally shuts herself into her room, Merida knows she's in a foul mood and does not care one bit. She knows she's being entirely unreasonable and highly irrational (both of which are such drastic departures from her normally assured continence that she has to laugh at herself). So she spends the next hour trying to distract herself from feeling utterly pathetic, and does not succeed at all. 

\-----

By the time Mac slips into her room later that evening, Merida has bypassed feeling jealous, insecure, and hopeless and jumped straight to her emotional default: anger. She's stewing in a concoction of her own self-made hatred, laying on her bed and glaring holes into the rafter beams when Mac comes to sit next to her; close enough so she can feel his presence but not too close as to be within swinging distance of her arm. He's a smart man. 

"Ye left early. I spent damn near an hour trying to find ye before yer Ma told me you'd hared off."

"Aye, well, didn't expect ye to notice, ye were a bit preoccupied." She leaves the words hanging between them, and her skin prickles as she watches the confusion on Mac's face turn to hesitant realization. 

"Mer, were ye jealous?"

She sighs, unsurprised at how quickly he reads her emotions. "No...Yes...? Maybe." It's completely unlike her to not be able to pinpoint her own feelings, and Mac just sits, waiting for her to continue. Rolling to her side, Merida props up on an elbow so she can see his face, gentle concern mixed with amusement. 

"Perhaps I was a wee bit jealous...only because I know I'll never be like one of those blasted fancy ladies. But- "

"-If that sentence ends any way other than 'but I know I'm still the most beautiful woman in the world' I'm going to have to wallop you." His words leave no room for argument and Merida finds herself smiling in spite of her rough mood. 

"Oh, ye wish ye were good enough to wallop me." She launches a pillow at his head that he easily deflects with a smile before he reaches for her hand and pulls her off the bed. 

He guides her to the side of the room, where her full length mirror stands against the wall and gently turns her to face their reflection. 

His hands linger gently on her shoulders, and their gazes meet in the mirror. "What are ye on about, Mac?"

His hand skim along her shoulder, down her arm, and he brushes her curls away from her neck so he can press a warm, chaste kiss to the curve where her pulse beats steady. "I am going to show ye exactly how beautiful I think you are. And you, my Queen, are going to have to stand there and take it."

She's about to call him ten different kinds of mad, but the words die on her lips as his hands deftly pull at the laces of her gown, tugging them loose until he can finally sweep the dress off her shoulders and let it pool to the ground in an instantly forgotten heap. 

Her mouth goes dry as she catches her reflection in the mirror, standing in nothing but her threadbare, translucent shift as Mac's hands wind around her front, resting low on her belly, and pulling her back so she leans into his chest. His mouth works a hot trail of kisses along the curve of her shoulder, pushing the strap of her shift down, nipping every so often to pull a needy sound from the back of her throat. 

He repeats the motion with her other shoulder, and she simultaneous finds herself chilled and slowly burning to the ground. 

And then with sure hands, Mac grabs the straps of her shift and pulls them down her body, letting it join the fabric of her dress in a useless pile. She's left standing completely, vulnerably naked in front of the mirror, and she instinctively draws in on herself, arms wrapping around her waist as her eyes slip shut in some form of acute embarrassment. 

But his hands grab firmly at her arms, drawing them back and away from her body. She feels his mouth leaving warm, heavy kisses along the slope of her jaw and neck, working tight coils into her stomach with each moist press of his mouth. 

"Open yer eyes, Mer." The growled command comes deep from his chest, and she can feel the words bleed into her body as he draws the lobe of her ear into his mouth, biting sharply. 

Her eyes hesitantly open, and the sight of her naked form reflecting back at her instantly sends a rush of arousal pulsing through her body and a breathy gasp leaves her mouth. It's a wicked, wanton state she's in; her arms pulled back slightly so the ample curve of her breasts is pushed forward, and every inch of her pale skin is flushed to a bright, sweet pink.

Mac's gaze meets her own, and the intensity of his lust blown eyes overwhelms her momentarily. His hand moves slowly across the plane of her stomach, wandering up until calloused fingers softly brush the under curve of her breast. Merida's breathing turns heavy as she watches their reflection eagerly, watches his thumb circle the sensitive nipple and then clasp down firmly, sending her arching into his touch. 

The flickering candlelight makes the whole moment a bit surreal, softening the edges of her body, making her glow ethereal. And for a second her eyes meet his again, but instead of the rolling lust, all she can see is awe-struck love. And the overwhelming feeling of being in his arms, of being safe and completely cherished, it makes her feel beautiful beyond words.

But she doesn't have time to cling to the heady, strange moment before he moves in front of her, blocking her view. Mac pulls her into his arms and kisses her soundly. Long, languid sweeps of his tongue through her mouth to turn her legs into jelly, and she gives as good as she gets, nipping at his bottom lip softly to hear the stifled groan he breathes into her mouth. 

And she doesn't know why she's surprised when he suddenly backs away with labored breathing and drops to his knees before her, curling an arm firmly around her waist to draw her close, but she is. His mouth brushes tickling, butterfly wing kisses to her stomach, making her sigh a quiet giggle. 

One of his hands gently pushes at her thigh, encouraging her to open her stance to him, and she does so without thought. "Merida," his voice rumbles through her aching core and her heart leaps to her throat as she hums softly. Mac grabs one of her hands, guiding it to curl through his soft hair, and their gazes lock. "Eyes on the mirror, or I stop. Got it?" 

She nods hesitantly, and the absolutely devilish smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth tells her she's in for it. And without another word of warning, his mouth brushes the heated, arousal slicked flesh of her sex. The string of curses that falls from her mouth at the sudden assault is magnificent, and causes him to press more greedily into her damp skin. She watches the reflection of them with some detached wonder; sees her hands wound through his curls, clinging tight as his head moves skillfully between her thighs. The sight is as erotic as anything she's ever imagined in wild dreams, and she watches herself flush pink as a new wave of lust nearly brings her crumbling. 

A helpless, keening sound is pulled from her chest as his fingers give an unexpected thrust up into waiting heat, and his mouth attaches to the overly sensitive bud of her clit. Mac works her over, hard and determined and without halt, listening to the sounds of her breathing becoming harsher and more labored. The sounds of his Merida in the throes of passion quickly became some of his favorite sounds in the world, and he's learned to catalogue every nuanced moan, gasp, and plea that escapes her. 

When he feels the tell-tale tightening of her intimate muscles begin, he presses forward with relentless abandon. He bites none-too-gently at her skin, wanting to leave a physical reminder of this moment on her body, and feels the stinging of her nails digging into his scalp in response. 

"Gods, Mac..." 

His fingers work steady, sure thrusts into her aroused flesh and he presses hard kisses into the skin of her thigh. "I know Mer. Yer fine. I've got ye." 

He gives one hard nip to the curve of her hip bone before sucking a bruise into the pale flesh, and with a sharp cry of his name and a loud gasp, he feels her climax sweep over her. She flies apart in his arms to a shattering conclusion, powerless to keep the soft whimpers contained in her throbbing body. 

It takes Merida every ounce of strength she possesses to not collapse right on the spot. Her entire body is tingling with the feeling of being well used as his fingers gently work her through her climax. Her head spins and she forgets how to draw breath into her lungs, savoring the burning in her chest. 

Once she's over the crest though, Mac stands, moving to cradle her head between his hands before pressing a sweet kiss to her mouth. And that's when her knees finally _do_ give out; he pulls her up into his arms and carries her boneless form to the bed, curling her into his side and brushing sweat dampened curls from her forehead. 

Mac doesn't say anything as she clings to him, slowly descending from her cloud on high. But he watches with keen interest as her eyes lose that glassy, post-coital haze. When she finally glances up at him and her face takes on the impressive coloration of a tomato, he knows she's back to herself. 

"How are ye, my Queen?" 

Merida smiles, bright and blistering and warm enough to light the sky for days. "Well,  asides the fact I can't feel my legs, I'm quite wonderful." He chuckles at the candid admission and presses his lips to the crown of her head. 

"I'd say I'm sorry but we both know that'd be a lie." Her laughter warms the skin of his chest, dancing over his heart and causing it to give a resounding thump. Mac moves to rise and head back to his own chambers (they've certainly pushed their luck with him being there as long as he has) when Merida grabs at his arm and pulls him back down next to her. 

"Where d'ye think yer off to?" 

"Ye need sleep, and I need to go back to my rooms before yer completely ruined." She snorts and pushes him to his back, moving with carefully concerted effort to straddle his waist. 

"Hang my reputation, I've already been well and thoroughly ruined. Many, many times. By you, in case you've forgotten. And damn near everyone knows it." Which is...probably true. They've been courting now for over a year, and most people have figured out that their eventual marriage is a case of 'when' and not 'if'. 

She presses a long, desperate kiss to his parted mouth, tongue twining with his own in her very best effort to make him forget everything and everybody except her. When she pulls away, she sees a heavy wave of lust cloud his eyes; but just behind that lingers the quiet, ever-present love that makes her blood sing, and makes her feel beautiful and powerful and bold. 

So she grinds her hips down hard into the prominent thrust of his arousal, and relishes the guttural groan that slips out of his mouth. Mac watches through heavy lidded eyes as her smirk grows, and sucks in a breath at the impish glint in her eye. 

Merida flicks open the clasp of his belt with sure and steady fingers, and pulls him into another hard kiss, all traces of earlier weariness gone. 

It is high time she reminded Lord Macintosh who his Queen is, and who exactly is in control.

(The answer, of course, is her. Always.)


End file.
